The Bloody Ford

 And so it was that on Samhain, under a Full Moon, the clans from the hills were gathered in secret in the Morning Forest where the road crossed the river that divided the Free Folk from the lands of the Midlish King.   A raven had come with word from the Queen, na dallag naomh was on his way home! Meet at the North Ford and be ready for battle.

The day dawned grey and cold but the  host gathered and formed for the fight. News that trouble was on hand must have  reached the Tower for the garrison was alert and the ford was strongly held. The Queen ordered her forces to step into the open and draw the enemy's attention.  At last, a Raven fluttered down by the Queen, cocked his head and  croaked "Here! Here!" before flying off again. She ordered the clans to sound their trumpets, shout loudly their Battle Cries, and to advance and attack the ford.

The clans attack through the morning mist.

The Captain of the Tower was no novice though, and he was forewarned. Having fortified and garrisoned the ford, he had also posted archers to watch the woods and formed his lancers to react. He also counted on reinforcements, the King's Borderers returning from their patrol, Sir Daniel and even the Earl himself. 

Raven's eye view of the battlefield.

At the ford, the battle was fierce and bloody, bloody for the Hill clans at least. The well armoured Midlish had planted Cheveau de Frises across the road and with their long pikes, they could spear the hillmen as they struggled to chop their way through it. The occasional arrow or javelin found a mark but there were pikemen enough to take their place. 

Far off, the Queen could see that while the hillmen died at the ford and lightly armed raiders were sacrificing them selves against the Iron Riders on the river bank, the Huntress had led her small party with the precious chest to the river.

The stories of the old ones told of a hidden way to cross if one could read the signs and who could read them if not the Huntress? But, she needed time and if blood must pay for it, that is how it must be! 

The Queen called the Hillfolk back and ordered Na gruagach mohr to open the road, and pin or crush the enemy!

 

At the sight of the great beast lumbering towards them, the Midlish soldiers braced themselves and more than a few muttered prayers. A desperate struggle began at the ford as the great beast tore at the barricade while his human companions tried to shield him from the pikes of the enemy.  

Suddenly, trumpets and joyful cries ran out from the tower: "The Earl! The Earl!". The Earl of Cowcross had come!

Though his men were encouraged, the Earl had come too late to save them. With the abatis crushed, the great beast stumbled forward, tearing great gaps in the enemy phalanx though they stood their ground manfully. At last, it became too much and the survivors fled.  

The catapult on the tower now had a clear shot to the wounded beast. A great bolt plunged deep into the beast, and then another. Slowly, it sank to its knees, lay down on its side, and heaved a huge sigh as its eyes slowly closed.

Beyond the ford, the arrival of Sir Daniel and his men had turned the tide. The lightly equipped Woodsfolk had died or fled and the armoured knights and their accompanying archers had pursued to the river bank.

Only the Queen's Hound, clothed in his magic mist, now stood between the enemy and the chest. Another epic struggle began.

Against all of the odds, the Hound held off and shattered squadron after squadron until at last, with his enemy dead or scattered, he sank to his knees and then the ground. His guardian witch gathered him up in her mist, and he disappeared from view. Arrows began to rain down on the warriors carry the chest as they sought the hidden passage. Was this the end?

 

Not yet! Woodsmen from the relief force swan across the deep part of the ford and their fierce attack drove the Midlish archers back and at last the Huntress found the secret junction in the ford. As the Earl weighed the risk of pursuit, there was a stir as clumps of spears began to appear over the crest line. The Farmers had honoured their oaths and had marched to war! 

Their arrival, mixed with the heavy Midlish casualties, was  enough to convince the Earl to declare that that chest was not worth the price in blood. The battle was over.  

And there a Greate Battle was Foughten

 and soon....... 

......the bards will sing of the Battle of the Bloody Ford!

AWAKE! AWAKE! FOES FIRE DANGER! AWAKE!

Forewarned by alarm beacons, the border post at the North Ford was on alert with barricades in place across the ford and guards and patrols doubled. As the sun rose, barbarians could be seen approaching from the West and the trumpet rang out to summon the garrison to their posts.

All eyes were rivetted to the ford and the foe beyond. Not a man spared a thought for the edge of the Wild Wood behind them.

As stealthy as cats, the Huntress and Cuan na Banrigh had scaled the tower, hidden in a magic mist, retrieved the sacred chest, and sped through the hills and forests towards the ford. Birds carried the word to the waiting Men of the Hills.

"We are coming!"

The Search for Na dallag naomh.

 

Nearly three years had gone by since the theft of the sacred Dallag. (See 2017 post: "The Original story of how the Midlish began the war") and every day the bonds of the alliance between Woodsfolk, Hillfolk and Farmers weakened a little more. For three years the search for the Dallag had gone on day and night. The Huntress had searched the Woods and Mountains for tales and signs while the Watcher had sent forth word to the wild birds and beasts of the forests, hills and mountains to search for the sacred totem. 

At, last! Word had come. The Iron Lord had entrusted it to Sir Daniel with orders to find a way to open the chest and discover its secrets or if not, then to destroy it. Since it was of the Old Gods, Sir Danial took the Chest to the Witch Cave and with praise and guile, bribes and sweet words he entreated them to show him their power by unlocking the chest. They chanted and danced and demanded a price which we will not speak here and at last they set their foul cauldron to boil, hiss and steam while they circled it, chanting in a forgotten language until at last with a cry and a final puff of foul smelling smoke.....they announced that the chest could not be opened by an unbeliever and faded back into the depths of their cave. 

Many the Wise Man and Sorcerer answered Sir Daniel's challenge and promises of reward until the day a Sky Wizard, a Shaman of the Herdsmen from the across the Mountains appeared and promised that this was a task for the light not the dark. If only the chest was taken up to the top of the tower where the Sky could peer down upon it, the Wizard would then read the mystery through its eyes and enlighten Sir Daniel. So it was that the gold and the chest were carried up the long stairs while the Wizard chanted and wove his arms while Sir Daniel and his guards looked on. Suddenly there was a bright flash, a tremendous BANG! and a dense fog of smoke. 

When the smoke cleared and Sir Daniel and the Guards awoke, the Wizard and the gold were gone but the chest remained, as silent as ever. But it had spoken widely enough. A eagle spied the smoke and circled over, wheeling quickly to report to the Watcher. 

 The Queen summoned the Huntress and sent her with a picked force of stealthy, painted folk from the forest to steal back the sacred chest and bring it by night through the forests to the Great River where a force of Hillfolk would meet them and fight off any pursuit. From the Farmers, there had come no answer to the summons.

The strongest oaths were taken: "Bring Na Dallag naomh home, or die trying!".

Fighting for Hearth and Home

When word came from the Watchers that the host of Iron Men in the pass had taken the North East road, the Elder of Smawlton was quick to send word to Duke Bedwyr and to set the Villagers to barricading the village streets.

From behind their barricades the village folk watched the long enemy column crawl across the plain with a screen of horsemen scouting ahead. From the woods they could see a shower of arrows rain on the enemy's scouts who replied from horseback with their crossbows. Moments later there was a sudden clamour of screeching and howling as a group of Watchers  rushed from the woods only to be cut down by the horsemen and scattered. A brave folk but rash when their blood was up. Their attack was not in vain though, the Midlish column halted and began to deploy for battle. They had barely started forward again when thundering hooves announced the advance guard of the Duke's men rushing to meet the foe.

The Earl of Oxford urged his men forward, wanting to settle the local force before the inevitable arrival of the Duke. The veteran mercenaries in the wood were doing their job though and company after company of archers were sent back to face them while the light horse were ordered forward to screen the knights from the arrows of the Federate light horse. Eventually the deployment was complete and the Earl signalled for a general advance but it had barely started when trumpets and loud cheers announced the arrival of Duke Bedwyr.

As the Federation lancers rode on and deployed, a young warrior, glittering in gold from his old fashioned winged helmet to his stirrups, rode forward from the ranks.

It was the young chieftain, Prince Wyngnuht, 8th of his name, a descendent of one of the most gallant and least fortunate of the generals of old Valdur and said to be the spitting image of his ancestor and to have inherited his courage and luck. He raised his battleaxe, bellowed a challenge to the Earl, and spurred his horse forward followed by the whole of the Federation lancers.

Alas, the ordered ranks of the heavily armoured Midlish knights were not to be shattered by such wild charges and fully half of the lancers were scattered, leaving the bloodied body of the young Prince on the ground.

Muttering quiet curses to himself, the old Duke ordered his men and set them to foiling the enemy's plans.  He sent the Herdsmen to circle the village and harass the enemy rear while the rest of Lancers and Light Horse kept the enemy cavalry busy.

The Losses of the Federation cavalry continued to mount as charge followed charge interspersed with exchanges of arrows but the enemy cavalry made little progress. It appeared that the Earl preferred to keep his cavalry intact and leave the village to his infantry rather than risking the loss of yet more cavalry so early in his raid.

Those infantry were making little headway though. A prolonged struggle at the barricades was bloody for both sides but the packed ranks of spearmen were not best suited for attacking over such broken ground under a shower of spears, throwing axes, rocks and whatever else came to hand.

To the south, the mercenary Goblins had finally dispersed  the last of the Midlish rearguard and had advanced from the woods, adding their arrows to those of the Herdsmen who galloped past the enemy's flanks to trade shots with the Midlish bowmen. 

Both armies were near exhaustion as the sun sank towards the horizon and the town was not yet taken. The Earl knew that more Federate forces would be marching through the night to meet them and even if his army captured the town as dark fell, he had lost too many men and too much time for the raid to go farther. It was time to pull back into the pass and either entrench and call up reinforcements, or head for home.   

As the Midlish pulled back, the villagers spread out, bringing succour to the wounded. To the Duke's great relief, the rash young Prince, who had been his guest when word of the raid had come, was only wounded. He would live to ride again, hopefully at the head of his own people.

Retribution

It has been a year since the Battle under the Tower (click)  but the villages North of the Great Pass still keep a wary eye out for the enemy.

Then one day in late January................

To Arms! The Enemy is at hand!

The Watchers in the Pass

The Free Folks that form the Northern Federation are not the only inhabitants North of the Mountains. Among the forests and craggy cliffs and caverns of the Mountains them selves dwell various non-human races which the humans are prone to call Goblins regardless of what they call themselves.

Prince August Goblins and Wargs, fresh from the mould. I'm pretty sure I can get some sharper castings with a bit of work but I was in the mood to add a few fantasy figures.

The mercenary companies that garrison many of the border posts and go on raids are raised from the larger races that dwell in the Eastern Mountains. However, there is a smaller race of hunters and trappers that lives in and near the Great Pass and it is these who have an agreement with the Federation to watch the pass and send word of threats in exchange for the right to levy tolls on those who use the pass. In time of war they have been known to send parties including their fierce Wolfdogs to scout for and fight alongside Federation troops and to bring home what plunder they may get.